common goal
by Misila
Summary: Yosano only wants to enjoy a relaxing dinner with her friends and do Kunikida a favour. Chuuya just wants to finish his job quickly and go to sleep. (But alas, it's not that simple.)


_Bungou Stray Dogs_ doesn't belong to me.

* * *

 _ **common goal**_

.

The air smells of recent rain and flowers, cooling the night above the garden. In contrast, the light born in a crescent moon joins the one coming from the lamps scattered across the large terrace, giving the atmosphere a warm glow; but it's not enough to stop the unnoticeable shivers running through her skin.

She greets former teachers, some of which she still keeps in touch with; talking to the people that were once her classmates is slightly harder, though, because they were quite a lot and she didn't get to know all of them. She soon finds some friends among the crowd that graduated from university the same year she did, though, catches up with them and meets their partners and spouses; from that moment on the smiles come more easily to her lips.

She learns Aoi married Shou, and it's not surprising; what is more disconcerting is seeing Sakura, who was always very clear about her dislike for children, expecting her first daughter. Tanaka doesn't practise as a doctor anymore and several glances tell Yosano not to pry as Haruki quickly introduces his fiancée and Nana shows them a picture of hers and explains he hasn't accompanied her because he is a firefighter.

Yosano's attention drifts away from the following discussion about who has the worst partner, arms folded in an attempt to get rid of the cold slowly seeping through her skin. The shawl is too thin to be of any help, and it doesn't even cover her bare legs. So she excuses herself and walks through the garden, between the several groups of both former students and teachers, scanning their faces in search of the one hosting the party.

Tonight is not only a chance to catch up with friends; she has a favour to do to Kunikida.

Yosano doesn't remember Fujiwara well; he never participated in class and was often absent. It's a mystery how he managed to pass everything and get his title, and the fact that he was the one who organised the party came as a surprise. Still, she tries to conjure his face, because if he is actually involved in the case her co-workers are investigating they can't allow him to be free anymore.

"Yosano-san, you are as beautiful as I remember."

Her high heels set on the ground as she turns her head, finally remembering who Fujiwara is as he approaches her, gaze almost rubbing at her before he remembers how to behave.

"I'd like to say the same, but I didn't get to see you enough to remember much," she replies, smiling and bowing at her former classmate. "I have to thank you for giving us an excuse to be together again."

"My pleasure." Fujiwara swats the words away with a gesture of his hand, looking Yosano up and down once more. "Oh, my, you must be cold. I didn't think it would be this chilly, but we should get in; otherwise all the ladies will fall ill."

With that, he bows again and leaves. Yosano looks up to scan the front of the house again, biting her lower lip. It's strange, thinking that the same people who learnt alongside her how to save lives are involved in such a shady affair; but Fujiwara hasn't skimped on a party for so many people and his home doesn't look exactly cheap. Honest means don't usually help to make money so quickly.

She breathes out a sigh as she lets go of her lip, not wanting to mess her lipstick, and turns around to follow her former classmates into the mansion.

Yosano almost trips over her own foot, though, when she spots a familiar figure talking to her Psychiatry teacher, both standing next to the door and letting others walk in first.

Unaware of her stare, he twirls his hat between gloved hands, fiery red locks brushing his cheeks as he listens to old Okada-sensei– his eyes are bright with interest, as if he sincerely considered whatever the retired teacher is saying fascinating.

Yosano is going to disembowel him.

"Okada-sensei," she greets with her most innocent voice, quickly approaching the pair of men –one in his sixties, the other just barely old enough of being called so– plastering what she hopes is a convincing smile to her face, "I'm glad to see you again."

She enjoys the shock in Chuuya's eyes when she reaches his side, barely spares a glance at him until she bows before Okada-sensei. Then she pins him to the ground with a glare, from his usual attire that seemingly fits any situation to the way his feet sink into the ground a bit more than they should.

"If it isn't Akiko-chan!" the old man replies, and his smile is sincere. Behind thick glasses, wrinkles form around his small eyes. "I haven't heard from you since you graduated… Good way to treat your teacher, young woman."

Yosano's smile sweetens. "I have a quite convincing excuse, at least. I haven't stopped working since then."

"You'll have a lot to tell me, then," Okada-sensei muses. Then he sighs as he looks at the last attendees walking into the house. "I have to sit at the table with my colleagues, but maybe we can catch up later. How does it sound?"

"I'd love it."

"We can listen to Ryou-chan too, even though he's playing hard to get," the teacher adds, winking an eye at Chuuya before heading into the house too.

Yosano manages to restrain herself until the last student walks through the entrance. Then she shoves Chuuya into the wall– or well, she tries to, but the result is more or less like that of pushing a tree. She lets out a grunt at his smirk.

"'Ryou-chan'?" she repeats. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not the Agency's business," Chuuya replies. "What are you doing here?" he counters, clearly irritated.

Yosano breathes out slowly, trying not to lose whatever is left of her patience.

"What does it seem to you? Catching up with my old classmates." Chuuya doesn't change his expression. "Your turn, unless you want to get your limbs torn off three times."

Chuuya snorts at the threat both of them know is empty.

"Work."

"You aren't murdering my class," Yosano warns.

"How many times do I need to tell you," Chuuya stops when he notices his voice is raising, "that the Mafia does more than killing people?" he finishes with a hiss. "Besides, officially I'm your former classmate too."

Yosano arches an eyebrow. "Has anyone seriously bought that?"

"I was absent often." Chuuya's lips twist into a crooked smile. "Now, how about we have dinner with our old friends and you let me do my job, Doctor Akiko-chan?"

Violet eyes narrow at the taunt, but Yosano doesn't reply.

It's only then that she notices she's not cold anymore.

.

It was supposed to be an easy job.

Infiltrating a formal dinner to enter the mansion without setting off any alarms, fulfilling the task given to him by Kouyou and going to bed, maybe after having a drink with Kajii the Black Lizard. Chuuya has done it countless times before, is often assigned this kind of missions because he's good at them, even though he finds the lack of a proper fight boring.

But now, Yosano is here and Chuuya's job is everything but easy.

The two of them being the last ones to get into the large hall where everybody means, among other things, that there are only two seats left at the end of a long table. Both Chuuya and Yosano stare at the two empty chairs for a while, look around in a desperate search for any other seat and let out a resigned sigh at the same time.

Chuuya supposes he could just tell Yosano what he is up to, but he knows telling her something about his job would inevitably lead to more information slipping between them, between the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency– and the only rule they follow religiously is not letting their relationship interfere with their jobs.

But he doubts Yosano will just let him go without knowing what he has come to do. And despite his frequent taunts about being way more prepared than her, Chuuya is aware Yosano is a formidable opponent.

On top of it all, the hall is well illuminated. Now it's not only the feeble light of lamps engulfing the garden, and Chuuya finds it even harder to look away from Yosano's form as she folds her shawl and lets it hanging on the back of her chair, as she sits down with her purse on her lap and waves at her friends, who are in the other end of the hall.

And Chuuya lets his gaze slide up, up her crossed legs, up the burgundy folds sprawled on her things, up the valley of her low neckline framed between thin strips joined at the back of her neck, for once exposed by the high bun her dark hair is tied up in; and as automatic movements sit him down too his eyes fix on the barely noticeable shifts of muscles beneath the skin of her throat.

He forces himself to tear his gaze away when Yosano's attention drifts from her friends, barely aware of the heat creeping up his ears. It's stupid, he tells himself; Chuuya is pretty sure they have spent longer naked than properly clothed around each other.

"Oh, there comes dinner," Yosano notes when the hired waiters walk into the hall through a door at the end of the hall with their food, seemingly oblivious to Chuuya's trouble. She turns her head towards him, deliberately slow. "Aren't you hungry?"

Scratch that, Chuuya grumbles inwardly at her too innocent smile. She is perfectly aware.

"Eating isn't the reason I came here," he replies. Yosano's eyes glint mischievously. "Neither is anything you're thinking about," he adds, hoping it's enough.

He knows it isn't.

"How can I know my old pupils' reunion won't become a bloodbath?" Yosano asks quietly.

Chuuya reaches for the bottle of wine to open it, fills both their glasses as the waiters leave the appetizers on the table.

"If that were my intention, why would I bother with this charade?"

Yosano hums, grabs her glass and brushes the edge with her upper lip as she considers the question.

"Maybe to get dinner for free?"

A bout of laughter shakes Chuuya's entire form, attracting several glances. But he doesn't mind; he hugs his stomach as giggles keep leaving his lips, not stopping even when Yosano kicks his shin with her heel under the table, even though she looks amused too.

"What is so funny?" she demands to know when Chuuya's laughter finally dies down. His stomach hurts a little and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

He gestures for her to get closer with his index, leans into her ear when she does to whisper:

"Just so you know, I can afford three parties like this one with what I earn each month."

He feels an inexplicable disappointment when Yosano draws back, taking her scent away with her. She cocks her head to the right; thin locks frame her face, fringe combed to the side.

"Then… Maybe to enjoy my invaluable company?" she suggests, but her gaze betrays she's just joking now.

Chuuya doesn't say that would be, indeed, a good reason to pretend to be a doctor for a night.

.

Having dinner with Chuuya is a surprisingly pleasant experience.

He is familiar with all the foreign food they are served and is more than willing to tell Yosano about the places where it's typical, makes up a story about why he often missed class when prompted by other attendees (and, certainly, a quite believable one); if they didn't know each other already Yosano might even not doubt it.

Even if to her, at times Chuuya looks more like a child playing with something bigger than him.

Fujiwara has another surprise for them; with the desserts a sextet makes its entrance and makes use of the piano that up until now has been forgotten in a corner along with a lonely drum set. A violinist, a double bass player, a saxophonist and a trumpet player join them, filling the pauses between conversations with adaptations of known works.

The atmosphere becomes even more lax with the music, with more people walking up to friends who are sitting far from them. Yosano meets her friends halfway between their seats, heels hitting the floor with the rhythm on instinct as the ever too critical Hayato complains about the food.

"That's not very nice for Fujiwara-kun," Aoi reminds him. "And we're together; that's what matters."

Yosano silently agrees. Her eyes narrow, though, when she catches Chuuya's stare.

He's not looking at her, but following someone else's movements. Yosano follows his gaze, raises an eyebrow when she realises he's looking at Fujiwara as the host of the party walks between attendees, giving everyone a few words before continuing, as if trying to please everyone.

A pensive hum reverberates in Yosano's throat as she finds herself walking back to her seat.

"You had to meet your boyfriend after graduating, right?" A voice at her left halts her steps; Yosano raises her eyebrow at Katsuo's knowing smile, needing a few seconds to take in the implications of her words.

"You got that wrong, Ch–– Ryou is a…" A chuckle escapes her lips. This situation is ridiculous. "Not even a friend. But yeah, we weren't in touch until lately."

"I see." Katsuo runs his fingers through his dyed blond hair. "I'm sorry I assumed things. How have you been lately? You aren't working in a hospital or anything like that, are you?"

They resume walking towards Yosano's seat.

"I'm a doctor for a private organisation," she admits, not wanting to give more details. One can never be sure of how the enemy will attack, and the more they know the greater the danger they are in. "It's not big, but everyone there is worth the trouble they bring… even if they are really prone to get hurt."

"I'm glad to hear that." Katsuo watches as Yosano sits down again, stiffens when he notices Chuuya's curious stare. "It's good to see you too…" he tells the redhead. "You'll have to forgive me, but I can't recall your face or your name, huh…"

"Ryou," Chuuya supplies, standing up to shake Katsuo's hand. A small smile lights up his face. "I don't blame you for not remembering, though. I usually studied at home."

"And apparently it worked," Yosano sing-songs.

Katsuo can't possibly know why Chuuya lets out a low grunt. He waves goodbye to them as Yosano fishes her phone from her purse to check the time, doesn't notice Chuuya's never-ending stare as he leaves.

"Jealous?" Yosano teases.

Chuuya blinks as he fixes his gaze on her, sincerely confused. "Why would I?"

A smile softens Yosano's features.

"It was a joke, Mafia Boy," she clarifies. He's so dull sometimes, comes to her mind again, with more fondness than irritation. "Katsuo's not cut for anything remotely similar to a relationship, anyway."

Chuuya bites his lower lip as he follows the man's movements, but there is nothing resembling concern in his expression. It reminds Yosano of the pure, undiluted interest pinning her to the floor she felt when they sat at the table.

"Hm, I don't want one, so I might have a chance," he muses.

"No, you don't. He's too straight for you."

Chuuya raises his arms above his head to stretch them. "What a pity."

Yosano leans closer to him, points at a former classmate in particular. He's trying to get Sakura to dance with him, now the sextet has started playing a bolero and some people are already on the empty area closer to the musicians.

"You could try with Sakamoto, although he's unbearable once he opens his mouth."

"He's so big, he'd look like my father." Chuuya shakes his head in disapproval. "Besides, he's not my type." He then looks at Yosano, and the hunger from before is back tenfold, darkening eyes that resemble skies before he can conceal it– as if it were necessary. Yosano's toes curl on reflex, a pleasant shiver running down her exposed back. "You speak from experience, don't you?"

Yosano has heard that kind of question many times before. Usually laced with possessiveness and displease, as if the one speaking were annoyed at dealing with some kind of hand-me-down partner. Usually that's what ends a conversation.

But Chuuya sounds genuinely curious and far from judgemental.

"I've dated my share of people, yeah," Yosano admits. "Mostly in university… How about you?"

Chuuya frowns, gaze drifting up as he thinks of a proper answer.

"Dating in a traditional sense? With flowers and anniversaries?" Yosano nods. "Not many."

Her dark eyebrows shoot up. "Now that's unexpected."

Chuuya huffs, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Yet he smiles, and even though it's teasing it also looks like a grimace.

"Despite how glamorous movies make it look, people usually don't like my job."

Yosano bites her tongue to refrain herself from voicing her thoughts about the matter. She pushes Chuuya's answer to the back of her mind to think about it later, because it's not often that he shares information about himself. She feels like there is something else going on in their conversation, lurking too quietly to even be called undertone, which neither of them can name nor even acknowledge yet.

.

As much as Chuuya is enjoying the night, he has yet to fulfil the task he came here for.

Which means he has to get away from Yosano; Chuuya hears the clicks of her heels on the floor even as she talks to the teacher that approached him when he arrived to the party, leaning on the edge of the table and –apparently– absorbed by both the conversation and the music.

If there is something like a perfect chance, this is the closest Chuuya will get to it tonight.

Even though not staying to listen to such a good sextet feels like a shame; as Chuuya stands up, walking to the rhythm of the waltz, they are so focused on their music only seeing them is hypnotising– the sound they tear off their instruments pulls at Chuuya's heart to both stand still and pay attention and dance to become another part of the art.

"Now, what about you, Ryou-chan? You're being so secretive, one would think you are involved in shady affairs…"

Chuuya freezes, presses his lips together as he turns to face the old man– whose name he has already forgotten.

"I… well––"

"The cat got your tongue?" Yosano chirps in.

She doesn't even try to conceal her smug grin. Her old teacher probably doesn't notice behind his thick glasses, anyway.

"I've been mostly traveling, it's nothing interesting," Chuuya mutters.

"Oh, but it is!" The man claps his hands together, taking a step towards the student he can't possibly remember but is fond of anyway. "Where have you been to?"

"Out of Japan? Europe, mainly." Chuuya glares at Yosano as he answers. Her smile doesn't waver and he can feel gravity pulling him down out of pure annoyance. "But I don't want to bore you with my anecdotes. How about Akiko-chan? She at least is putting her knowledge to good use, right?"

Unfazed, Yosano gets the ball, gives answers vague enough to not reveal the important part of her job, never looking away from Chuuya. Her words are too sharp for even the short-sighted teacher to keep prying, though, and he moves off with the excuse of talking to his other former students.

"Europe! That doesn't sound exactly boring," Yosano comments, walking closer to him.

"Your 'job in a private company', on the other hand, would dissuade anyone from sticking their nose," Chuuya replies. It's not meant as a compliment, but he wouldn't blame Yosano for taking it as such.

By then, the ending of the waltz is quickly approaching, the cadence building up; it squeezes Chuuya's stomach as the instruments brush the fourth, stay in the fifth in the subtlest rallentando to finally fall gracefully on the keynote. Yosano keeps humming the main melody even as the musicians put their instruments down to drink from their bottles.

"They weren't this prone to dance last time I saw them," she comments when three of the few people still sitting walk to the improvised dance floor to join their former classmates.

"They suck," Chuuya points out. "Your classmates' dancing skills, I mean. The musicians are pretty good."

"Oh?" Yosano raises an eyebrow, and she seems mildly offended on behalf of her friends. "And you are a better dancer, I suppose?"

Chuuya clicks his tongue, bothered by the mere insinuation.

"As if that were hard." Blue lightens up when the drummer sets his drumsticks aside and grabs another instrument from behind him; the corners of his lips lift with mischievousness as his eyelids droop and he offers Yosano his hand. "Want to see? If you can keep up, that's it."

Her red lips twist into an expression that mirrors his daring smirk when she glances at the bandoneon and guesses what's about to come.

"You should be worried about keeping up, Mafia Boy," she bites back, taking his hand and leading him towards the dance floor.

On her high heels, Yosano is at least half a head deliciously taller than Chuuya; her hand is warm between his fingers and for a second he feels like she could take him to the end of the world and he would be glad to follow. The thought makes Chuuya stumble a bit, overwhelming vertigo clouding his senses.

It's terrifying.

When he raises his gaze he meets Yosano's uneasy expression, realises his tight grip around her hand. He doesn't stop, though, and she keeps walking beside him, fingers steady where they press against his skin. For an instant it occurs to Chuuya that maybe she can read through his resolute façade.

"I didn't think you'd agree so quickly to dance tango," he comments though, ignoring the gazes fixed on them as the saxophonist stands up and announces the title of the next piece.

"Same goes for you," Yosano replies, smiling slightly. She seems to be familiar with the title, too. "For a second I thought you would chicken out."

As the members of the sextet share a look before starting, Chuuya pulls slightly at her to bring her in front of him. His left hand taking her right one far from their bodies, his right arm raising so his palm lands on the small of her back– and oh, how he wishes he had taken his gloves off so he could feel her skin.

The bandoneon's ad lib call resounds in the hall just as Yosano's white fingers come to rest on Chuuya's upper arm. She flashes him a daring smile, but it's not that what his attention clings to; for the briefest instant her expression is but the broken grimace of a child about to cry.

But then the piano's chord emphasises the stressed beat.

It's Yosano's hand which pulls at Chuuya to start moving.

The music, the steps, Yosano is all that fits in his mind, but it's her who intoxicates his every sense as they advance along the border of the dance floor, sometimes mirroring the other's movements, sometimes following them– and as the motif steps down a third Chuuya pushes her away, hands close to her body as she spins in a whirlwind of burgundy before returning to the embrace, returning her grin as legs raise, cross, hook with each other in an private game of tag that brings them both back to another dance, nearly to the beginning of this madness.

And as a new melody comes in, double bass vibrating into his very soul, the game turns into hands that touch and let go, knees that brush, endless turns and legs raising, stretching, wrapping around his waist– and lips that are always close but never enough, eyelids drooping with wordless promises and smiles made of hastened breathing. Even the bow drawing across the violin's strings fades into the background as their hips join.

Air slips out of Chuuya's lungs when Yosano's hand tightens around his as she lifts both her legs, the arm thrown over his shoulder trembles with something aside from exertion.

He smiles, thumb caressing the back of her hand as the arm wrapped around her waist frees her from the load that pulls her down; his feet glide over the tiles in a couple of steps before setting her down again, nearly tripping as her soundless chuckle burrows in his red air, another little secret between them.

Nobody has to know if they do the trick again, then, and she doesn't have to know that the reason his arms shiver is not tiredness– that trust comes too easily as they learn not to hinder the other's moves and Chuuya feels his heart about to burst and doesn't mind as long as he can keep catching glimpses of her flushed cheeks, of locks of hair escaping her bun and falling on her face.

And as the final motif wraps them again, an amalgam of melodies and counterpoints, their moves become hastier, more desperate; blue against violet as they face each other, glimpses from the corner of their eyes when they face the same direction– and turn, an endless chase across the tiles Yosano's heels click against.

Chuuya brings Yosano closer with the first cadence, forehead leaning against his and fiery curls brushing her cheeks, giggles when she pushes him away just like he did at the beginning, spins around and walks with her back pressed against Chuuya's chest, hand clinging to the other's as if clutching at straws. Yosano turns to face him again, hooks a leg around his waist as he guides her to the centre of the area somebody outside their little world has cleared for them. Frantic steps that mirror, that follow, that improvise; half-lidded eyes entirely focused on the other's––

––and it's over, Yosano's back arched in an impossible angle, her waist leaning on Chuuya's forearm as he keeps her arm stretched, a feral smile in an expression that looms over Yosano's amused one, too close but not enough, despite red locks are brushing flushed cheeks.

Their eyes widen in unison when people start clapping, identical flinches shaking them as reality reaches them again. Yosano straightens up, blinks at her former classmates in confusion before regaining her composure while Chuuya notices the heat creeping up his neck and hopes it doesn't reach his cheeks.

"Ah," she exhales, leaning into Chuuya's embrace for a second before letting go of his hand. Her smile comes back easily. "Was this your plan to go unnoticed?"

Chuuya grunts. "I take all the teasing back," he mumbles as they walk back to the table.

Yosano looks amused.

"I now know I shouldn't have doubted you," she admits. She grabs her purse from her chair, waves at Chuuya before heading out of the hall, undoubtedly towards the closest bathroom.

After she disappears through the door, Chuuya allows himself to rest for a couple of minutes, things other than the tango slowly making their way through his fuzzy mind. Then he takes his hat and coat and walks out; he still has a job to do.

.

Soft hums resembling the main motif of the tango escape between her lips, steps subconsciously adjusting to match the rhythm stuck in her head as they resound in the empty hallways. Her body feels strangely lax after the dance, skin tingling where Chuuya's hands have been; it is as pleasurable as it is disturbing, how much she wishes to walk back into the hall and drag him into the swing her ears only catch pieces of.

But she has work to do, and she has to finish it in time to protect whoever Chuuya's is related to.

After opening some doors and peeking her head inside to frown in disappointment when the room turns out not to be the one she was looking for, she finally finds something interesting. She tiptoes her way into the studio, blinking to try to get used to the dark room, illuminated only by the light filtering through the window.

She closes the door behind her, walks straight up to the desk and turns the lamp on, quickly opening the first drawer. There are only sheets, pens and a letter opener there; Yosano rummages through the sheets just in case, but she doesn't find anything that might be useful for his co-workers, the most interesting thing being a doodle of what looks like a dog's skeleton.

Yosano closes the drawer, opens the next one with an impatient huff. However, a screech coming from behind startles her; she quickly slides beneath the desk, eyes fixed on the figure crouched on the windowsill, forcing it open.

She recognises the intruder easily when he jumps into the room, growling as she gets out of her hideout.

"What the fuck," she breathes out.

As he jumps backwards, Chuuya's hand shoots to his side, where Yosano knows he keeps his knife. He halts before reaching it, though.

"Akiko?!" Her given name, shocked and surprised, strangely fits the voice that stumbles as it looks for a proper follow-on. "What– you were supposed to be in the bathroom."

Yosano's eyes narrow as she takes a step towards the man. "And you were supposed to stay listening to the music."

Chuuya huffs, leans on the edge of the desk.

"I told you, I have––" But he pauses, blue eyes widening for a split second before mirroring Yosano's expression; only it comes from realisation, not suspicion. "Liar! Old pupils' reunion, my ass."

Yosano shrugs, only slightly hurt at the accusation.

"It's true I came to catch up with my former classmates," she clarifies. "Which doesn't mean I can't multitask." She folds her arms when goosebumps rise down their length as the chilly air blowing through the window caresses her skin, not wanting to be distracted. "Wait," she mutters, and Chuuya's eyebrows raise in surprise, "shouldn't you be getting rid of whoever wronged the Mafia?"

Chuuya raises his arms, and he himself doesn't seem to know whether he wants to grab Yosano's shoulders to shake her, grab the lamp to hit it against his head or crush the desk with his own hands; every option seems equally likely, but in the end he covers his face and groans into his palms.

"How many times will I have to tell you," he hisses, voice muffled by his black gloves, "that killing is not all the Mafia is about?"

In the silence that follows, broken only by the rumble from the party and the faraway owls' hoots, Yosano's mouth falls open.

"So… you actually said the truth earlier?"

Chuuya's hands slide down his face, an offended glare fixed on her.

"I only lie when I have no other option."

Yosano looks down, weighed by the betrayal in Chuuya's eyes his visible annoyance can't conceal.

"Alright," she mutters, hugging herself tighter, "sorry."

And from an outsider's perspective it would be strange, how the one who was more sincere belongs to the bad guys' side, how the most righteous one just tried to deceive the other. How precisely Chuuya, whose world is made of blood and dishonesty, is actually hurt by Yosano's secretiveness.

"What are you after?" he asks quietly.

Yosano sighs. "Information."

"What a coincidence." Chuuya's voice quickly regains its sharp edge, a smile distinct in his words. "Me too."

He pushes himself off the desk, only to turn around and crouch down before the drawers. Yosano forgets to tell him there is nothing in the first drawer, though, when she makes out the unmistakable sound of steps approaching.

Chuuya's head perks up, alarm shining in his blue eyes as the sound fades in closer. He bolts upright, reaches for the lamp to turn it off; Yosano takes a step towards the window just as whoever is in the hallway stops, halts when her heel hit the wooden floor too loudly in the silent night, meeting Chuuya's horrified gaze as the door opens.

.

Fujiwara has a frown plastered to his face as he walks into the study; it only deepens when he notices the open window. He looks around with narrowed eyes, stopping in the centre of the room to scan his surroundings.

It's a miracle he doesn't hear the pair of accelerated heartbeats resounding within their owners' eardrums.

His gaze lingers on the sofas and the low table in a corner; he strides towards them, peeks behind the furniture, only to find just empty space between them and the bookcase that covers most of the wall. But he doesn't give up yet; he approaches the window to close it, turns around and crouches down to meet only air under the desk. He looks around once again, then through the window once more, but nothing catches his attention.

Violet tears off his figure and meets alarmed blue, pale index against red lips in a needless warning.

"I swear I heard…" he mutters, scratching his chin; but he makes his way towards the door nonetheless, closes it after glancing inside one last time.

Knees and a hand leaning on the ceiling, Chuuya almost doesn't dare breathe as Fujiwara's steps fade away; trapped in between, Yosano's widened eyes close in relief, face burying in Chuuya's shoulder as silence engulfs them once again. The arm around her waist pulls at her even closer, even though her legs are already hooked around his hips on reflex.

"That was close," Chuuya whispers against her hair. "Heels aren't the best choice to go unnoticed, you know."

Yosano lets out a breathless chuckle as she pulls back enough to look at him again, hands leaning on his chest.

"I have to admit sticking to the ceiling is funnier than just watching you do it," she mutters, and her eyes are too bright for the darkness in the room.

"Huh… Thank you?"

Her smile grows as she leans down again, this time to press her lips against Chuuya's in a surprisingly shy kiss.

The next thing Chuuya is aware of is a thud followed by a sharp pain running down his back, Yosano's weight crushing his ribcage before she leans on her knees to let him breathe, thin fingers caressing his cheek.

"You alright?" Chuuya nods, opening his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of her mildly concerned gaze. "Really? Did you hit your head?" He shakes it, almost annoyed by her worry. "Well, who would have guessed distracting you is so easy?"

"I just wasn't––" Chuuya hopes it's dark enough for his blush to not be seen, "at least warn me," he grumbles, but he isn't angry. He can't, not when Yosano throws her head back in laughter even as she tries to stifle it with her hands, tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh, shut up."

His hand reaches for the back of her neck to bring her down, her giggles dying down on his lips as the kiss deepens with this strange familiarity of theirs. His other hand soon gets trapped between her fingers, the yearning he has been all the night trying to ignore finally melting the distance between them.

But Yosano draws back, eyes half lidded as she brushes her nose against his, dark hair tickling his cheeks.

"How about we leave this for a better occasion?"

She sounds almost apologetic, but Chuuya has to agree.

.

Yosano can't help the caution that seeps into her movements when she approaches Fujiwara to thank him for the party again and bid him farewell after saying goodbye to her friends. She doesn't mind the suspicion glinting in his gaze –with the information she has gathered, he'll be rotting in jail in two days, anyway–, but that doesn't mean she enjoys it.

"I'm surprised you don't leave with your boyfriend," he admits when she declines his offer to stay for a little while longer.

"My what?" Yosano's smile is strained. Fujiwara is the sixth person that insinuates it and it's slowly getting on her nerves. "Can't I even have a dance with somebody without everyone assuming we are dating?"

It doesn't take long for Fujiwara to recoil.

"I apologise, Yosano-san, but it appeared to me––"

"Well, it appears you were wrong," she snaps. "Good night."

Yosano wraps herself up in her shawl as she walks through the hallway towards the exit, fists curled around the fabric in frustration. Her jaw hurts from grinding her teeth together, tongue itching with many replies she regrets not having thrown at the swine that Fujiwara is– and for some reason it bothers her almost as much as the people her former classmate has killed while pretending he couldn't do anything to save them.

Why does everyone like bringing feelings into the equation?

Chuuya is waiting for her outside the building, gaze focused on the starry sky as he blows rings of smoke into the night, holding his cigarette between his index and his middle finger. He raises a red eyebrow when Yosano catches up with him, obviously noticing her anger.

"Here," he mutters, though, taking some papers from under his waistcoat and handing them to her. "What's up?" he asks after giving the cigarette another puff.

Yosano holds the documents against her chest, folding her arms to both shield herself from the cold and conceal the tremors running through them as they start walking down the street.

"Pretending I don't know what that prick is doing has put me in a bad mood, that's all."

For some reason, she doesn't want to hear Chuuya express his agreement.

She flinches when his coat falls on her shoulders, glances at Chuuya's smile. "As pretty as you are with that dress, you'll get a cold." Her posture relax the tiniest bit as she grabs the black coat closer, warm and surprisingly comforting with the smell of cigarettes clinging to the fabric.

"Usually you'd compliment a lady when the party starts and she's still beautiful," she comments, though.

"But I think you're more beautiful now." Chuuya puts out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe, throws the butt into the closest bin, ears pink under the warm light of the streetlamps. "I can take you home, if you want to. It's on my way anyway."

Yosano considers the offer.

"Alright," she mutters.

Chuuya's car is probably the most expensive one Yosano has ever got into; it's spotless, both outside and inside; to her surprise the radio plays instrumental music, similar to the one Chuuya has enjoyed so much at the party. He doesn't comment on any of it, though; they are halfway there when Yosano finishes folding his coat, leaves it on the back seat and makes her mind to speak up:

"The Mafia will kill Fujiwara."

It's not a question. Chuuya doesn't tear his gaze off the road.

"Most likely. Now there's no doubt he killed one of us, after all."

She sighs. "Regardless of his crimes, his testimony is necessary for our investigation."

Chuuya glances at her for a second.

"So?"

"Give us at least a day before finishing him."

Blue eyes narrow, fingers tightening around the wheel as he drives into the street Yosano's home is on.

"It's not me who is in charge of that. I simply did Kouyou a favour."

"But you can slow things down a little, right?"

The car stops a bit abruptly, Chuuya's jaw tightened. "We're here."

Yosano looks down. She knows what she is asking is selfish, not to mention potentially dangerous. She knows she has no right to ask Chuuya to change how he works, and she is supposed to like it, to be glad they are able to not bring feelings into their strange equation.

"Thanks for bringing me home," she mutters as she unfastens her seatbelt.

Chuuya grabs her hand when she's about to open the door. She turns around, puzzled, and finds his eyes turbid with too many emotions to discern any.

"You have until midday."

Her eyes widen, a little nod shaking the loose strands of hair around her face.

"Alright."

She leans towards Chuuya, kisses him once again. This time is not mischievous or hungry; as Chuuya brings her closer Yosano senses a sadness that is both hers and his, helplessness in the face of too many factors they can't control, too many circumstances tightening around wishes and yearnings, strings hindering their movements.

"Good night," she whispers, pulling back when she realises Chuuya won't.

He nods, bitterness spoiling his smile as she gets out of the car.

"See you soon."

As Yosano watches the car drive away, she regrets not asking him to stay the night.

* * *

 _Author's notes_ : Congratulations if you made it this far. I hope it was worth it.

The tango Chuuya and Yosano dance, in case anybody is curious, is _Derecho viejo_ (Forever Tango version). I would link to it but FFN doesn't let me.

Anyway, what did you think about it?


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